Not a Love for Faint Hearts

It wasn't until the next day that Zoey finally understood what Maxwell meant. But before she could react, a group of bodyguards shoved her into the blood transfusion room.

A needle as thick as a thumb jabbed into her bruised, swollen arm. Even Dr. Willow, the one drawing her blood, couldn't help but wince. His voice trembled as he tried to intervene.

"Mr. Porter... Ms. Bradford just barely made it through surgery. If we take more blood now... I'm afraid—"

Maxwell's gaze was ice, fixed on Zoey's frail silhouette. His voice, sharp and merciless, cut through the air.

"Don't worry about anything else. As long as Nancy and the baby are fine... nothing else matters."

That's when Zoey realized Nancy was pregnant.

And even though her blood type was the most common—Type A—Maxwell insisted that Zoey be the one to give her blood.

As the first full bag filled, Zoey's eyelids grew heavier. Every word exchanged between them pricked into her chest like needles.

'Maxwell... You'd really trade my life for hers, wouldn't you?' Zoey thought bitterly.

Her body slumped weaker and weaker, darkness swallowing her vision. Only then did Maxwell glance at Dr. Willow, his voice unnervingly casual. "Keep the painkillers going. Don't let her pass out just yet."

Zoey's head drooped. Even breathing felt impossible.

Dr. Willow stormed back into the room, his tone firmer. "Mr. Porter. You cannot take any more blood. Not this time."

But Zoey stretched out her arm herself. Her eyes were hollow, her voice empty.

"If I give more... can I leave after?"

Something flickered—just briefly—in Maxwell's eyes. But his grip was still firm as he shoved her arm toward Dr. Willow.

"Draw it. Once we're done... we'll go finalize the divorce."

Zoey didn't respond. Her mouth tasted of blood. Her body hung limp, like a puppet whose strings had long been cut.

She didn't know how long it lasted. Only that when it was finally over, she collapsed against the table.

Maxwell let out a cold snort.

"Get her up. We're going to the courthouse."

The bodyguards hoisted her like dead weight. Blood trickled from the corners of her mouth as she was dragged out.

At the courthouse, she used the very last of her strength to scribble her name onto the divorce papers.

The moment the divorce certificates were handed over, she tried to leave. But Maxwell yanked her wrist back, the sneer on his lips as cruel as ever.

"Leave? What for?" His eyes narrowed, full of mockery. "Nancy's still weak. You're staying... as our backup blood supply."

Zoey didn't fight. She couldn't. Her body wouldn't let her.

......

At the wedding ceremony, Maxwell stood at the altar, gently holding Nancy's hand. His smile was radiant.

Zoey hid in the shadows of the second-floor balcony, her consciousness flickering like a dying flame.

The pain. God—the pain was endless. Her whole body convulsed as a mouthful of blood surged up and spilled out.

Her legs trembled. Her tears fell silently, without even realizing it.

'No, I can't... I won't... I can't die here. Not like this,' she thought.

Her hand reached blindly for the staircase railing, but before her fingers could close around it, Maxwell grabbed her. Yanked her back.

"Nancy fainted. Get over here. Now. She needs blood."

Zoey tried to speak, but her swollen gums throbbed. Her mouth filled with blood, warm and bitter. She couldn't even form the words—I'm dying.

'Just... not here. Please, not here,' she kept praying.

But everything went dark again.

And as the needle stabbed into the purple, bruised skin of her arm, the only sound that reached her was Maxwell's cold voice.

"Even if she dies... at least she'll have atoned for Nancy's child."

Zoey stopped struggling. She lay there quietly as her blood drained away, bag after bag.

Outside, laughter floated from the wedding banquet. Glasses clinking. Guests celebrating.

Her mind drifted—somewhere far away. She saw a different day. Their wedding day.

Maxwell was drunk back then—his face flushed, his steps unsteady—but even drunk, his hand instinctively reached for hers.

The voices blended together. She closed her eyes, exhausted.

And in the static of memory, she thought she heard him say, "Zoey... I'll never betray you."

Except it wasn't her name this time. It was—

"Nancy... I'll never betray you."

A white light exploded. And Zoey died. Right there. On the transfusion table.